While We're Alive
by tai-chi-leigh
Summary: A collection of moments that are too short to be their own stories. Romance, angst, AUs, Percabeth, friendship... anything else that I write. Each chapter is unrelated to the next one. (This story is for the people who don't follow me on Tumblr to see the drabbles I post on there).
1. Fake Relationship Request

**A/N: Hey everyone! I've decided to make this for the people who don't follow me on Tumblr where I post a lot of shorter drabbles and such. This is basically going to be a collection of things I write that aren't long enough to be their own story...**

**Just a reminder, my Tumblr is tai-chi-leigh. If you follow me there, then you've probably already seen all of these.**

**Thanks, and enjoy :)**

* * *

It's Valentine's Day, and neither Annabeth nor Percy gets any cards.

Percy is surprised—he thought Annabeth would get dozens. After all, it's easy to notice the looks she gets in the hall, on her way to class, raising her hand to answer a question that the teacher asked.

She's a magnet for guys. She's stunningly pretty, smart, and nice (when she wants to be). Percy can see past her glare and intimidating façade.

In fact, she's actually so cute, it physically hurts him sometimes. The way she bites her bottom lip lightly when she's confused on a problem, the way she pushes her glasses back before she raises her hand to give an answer. The way she wears sweaters in the winter that are just a _bit_ too big so that they fall off her shoulders.

Maybe Percy thinks a little highly of his best friend. But it's his job; he has held that title for nearly twelve years and goddammit, if Percy can't be the best in math or English then he's going to be the _best _best friend there ever was.

Plus, the title comes with a lot of perks. Spending a lot of time with Annabeth is one of them.

They're at lunch and Annabeth is reading something that looks incredibly boring and horrible—the print is tiny and it makes Percy upset because it's probably something he was assigned to read and never did. Each time Annabeth turns the page, she twitches her nose to the side and it's so intoxicating to Percy that he figures he better put an end to it before she notices the blush he can feel rising on his face.

"Hey—hey Annabeth."

She looks up, blinking, like she didn't realize he was there the whole time.

"Yeah?"

She's beautiful. Percy's not sure how, but she even looks good in the school cafeteria.

"Got a Valentine?" he raises an eyebrow and smirks, though he already knows the answer to this question.

"Nah." She shrugs and returns to her book, looking a cross between flustered and confused. This time, though, she pulls the book really close to her face. It's one of those things she does when she's trying to avoid a conversation—he can tell she's not reading as intently as she was before due to the set of her shoulders and the expression on her face.

He doesn't push the topic; instead, he resigns to eat his sandwich in silence for the next ten minutes.

So it shocks him when Annabeth looks up, just moments later.

"Do you?"

He jumps, a mouthful of PB&J.

"Do I whawwt?"

She crinkles her nose. It hurts him.

"Have a Valentine?"

It takes all Percy has not to say '_you'_ with his cheesiest grin.

"Nah." _Way to play it cool_.

"Oh."

And then she smiles at him, and it's warm, and goofy, and a tiny bit shy.

"Then we'll just be Valentines for the day. Show them what they're missing."

He almost chokes on the peanut butter, but Annabeth takes it as a yes.

* * *

They spend the rest of the day pretending to date—walking through the halls with their arms linked, sitting side by side in class (even though they did that every day, anyway). Percy carries her books for her, and Annabeth waits for Percy outside the classes they don't share.

It's stupid and laced in sarcasm and overdramatic, but they're having fun. Annabeth smiles at him all day, bumps his shoulder in the hallway, gives him cheesy winks.

It's strange, because they don't get any weird looks from any of their classmates—almost like everyone expected this sort of thing. Like it was always Percy and Annabeth, and everyone else was in on the joke long before they were.

So yeah, their relationship might be fake today, but when Annabeth gives him a kiss on the cheek to say goodbye—

—hey, it seems pretty real to Percy.

And maybe one day soon, he thinks, it will be.


	2. Sight of the Sea

"There was a single blue line of crayon drawn across every wall in the house. What does it mean? I asked. A pirate needs the sight of the sea, he said and then he pulled his eye patch down and turned and sailed away." ~Brian Andreas

* * *

When Percy was little, his mom used to tell him that his dad got lost at sea.

In the mind of a three year old, it was fantastic, whimsical. Percy liked to imagine his dad braving the swells, a scraggly beard fluttering in the wind.

He thought that surely his dad would look like him—after all, people said that he didn't look much like his mom, so it only made sense that he would look like his dad (his mom told him that kids usually looked like one of their parents more than the other).

So Percy just _knew_ that if he ever met his dad, he would have the same eyes as him—bright green, sparkling with adventure, as his mom liked to put it. He would have big hands, good for sailing, after all, and skin tanned by the sun.

Each night, his mom told him bedtime stories of his dad's adventures. Each day, Percy went to school and bragged about his dad to his friends.

The thing Percy didn't quite understand, though, was if his dad was as great as his mom told him, then why was he lost for so long?

Why couldn't he find his way back?

He contemplated asking his mom, but he thought that would make her upset. Usually, questions about his dad made her have a sad face. She didn't tell him that outright, but Percy knew that she didn't like to talk about it.

Still, when the sun went down, her voice echoed off the walls of his room, her hands created shadows against the pale blue bed sheet as she told story after story, and for just a moment, Percy could see his dad sailing across the sea, trying to find his way home.


	3. I've Got My Ion You

"Wait a second. Aren't moles animals?"

Annabeth whirls around in her lab chair to look at the person who asked the question.

"Errr… like the little furry things, or something…" the student in the back of the room continues, his face turning a slight shade of pink when he notices that everyone's eyes are on him.

The professor just stares at him, his mouth open slightly and his arms crossed in front of his chest. He looks a combination of annoyed and shocked.

Annabeth smirks, and thinks that her reaction would probably be something similar if she were the teacher.

The boy looks around the room, and slowly lowers his hand. He ruffles his hair so that it stands up in the back, and then shakes it out similar to how a dog would.

"I'm guessing that was a stupid question…" he mutters, suddenly taking great interest in the pencil on his desk.

Her professor ignores him and goes back to talking about stoichiometry. Annabeth feels a twinge of pity for the boy in the back of the room, but it's gone as soon as it comes. This is the first day of chemistry at her new college, and Annabeth is ready for an academically strenuous semester.

She listens to the rest of the lecture and is happy to find that it's all stuff she knows already. Her professor is already great—he's sarcastic but enthusiastic which is a combination Annabeth likes. At the end of class, he passes around sheets of paper with their assigned lab partners.

Annabeth flips over her sheet.

Percy Jackson.

She shrugs, not recognizing the name— it's her first week of freshman year and she hasn't met many people. She's not particularly worried though, because most of the people in this chemistry class are very qualified.

As long as he's not the boy in the back with the question about moles, she'll be fine.


	4. Red Was Her Favorite Color

Annabeth thinks, as the sticky red liquid curls underneath the crease of her neck, that red was always her favorite color until she met Percy.

Her vision is slipping now, her eyes trained on the sky, and she's not scared because even though it's not the exact same shade as Percy's eyes, it's close enough.

She feels calm, almost.

Peaceful.

Nothing can hurt her now.

The pain shoots from the tips of her toes to the top of her head, but it's not that bad. Growing up as a demigod, she has felt worse. At least she thinks she has.

The fluid is spreading now, warming her chest and clinging to her skin like a blanket. It reminds her of the way her blood rushes to her cheeks at Percy's touch, the heat of his skin on hers. It doesn't hurt her. It makes her feel safe.


	5. Hugs

It's the coldest Annabeth has ever been in her life. Even the burning in her chest can't keep her warm.

The streets of New York City are slick with ice: her boots slip across the sidewalk like soap and with each gust of wind the tears in her eyes freeze against her cheeks.

The snow falls around her like a vale and she feels the coldness under her skin.

She turns the corner of the street and squints to try and make out the small walking symbol on the other side. Checking to see the coast is clear, she steps out into the street and hurries across, anxious to walk the remaining three blocks to her apartment as quickly as possible.

Christmas lights twinkle through the whirling white, reflecting off the flakes in reds and greens, the translucent world slowly turning into flashing colors that Annabeth can feel blinking against her face.

She rounds another corner and hears the satisfying crunch of her boots against the crystals of snow.

Two blocks now. Two blocks until she's home and she can finally cry about her awful day and how much she hates her job and her boss and her life at the moment. She feels like this a lot, recently.

It's also Christmas Eve and she has no one to spend it with. That never really bothered her until now.

A mixture of the wind, snow, embarrassment, and an overwhelming feeling of self-pity makes her face sting and pressure build in her chest.

At the end of her block she hears Christmas bells, and can just make out a figure waving its hand. As she walks closer she realizes it's one of charity donation stands to raise money during the holiday season.

She debates turning around and walking the other way because, despite her loneliness, she's desperate to avoid human interaction. Especially since she's a sniveling mess right now. However, the cold wins out, and she quickens her pace, hopeful that her glare will deter the man at the end of the street.

She's distraught to find that as she approaches, his waving only increases in excitement.

Through the snow and the wind whipping her hair around her face, she's able to make out a cardboard sign around his neck. Written in ugly scrawl, it says:

_Happy holidays! 5¢ hugs for charity._

He looks like he's freezing: his face is flushed pink and his hair sticks out of his hat in wild tufts. The mittens on his hands are crusted with a layer of frost, but he bounces on his feet (either with energy or because he's shivering from the cold, Annabeth isn't sure). He smiles at her like she's an old friend he hasn't seen in months, with tenderness and a sort of… warmth.

"Happy holidays ma'am, I'm selling hugs for five cents today. I promise I've showered recentl—"

"No thanks."

She takes a step past him.

She takes another.

She's three steps past him when she feels a tug on her scarf from behind. For reasons she doesn't quite understand, she allows herself to be whirled around.

He pulls her straight into his arms.

Her face is pressed into his jacket and his arms wrap around the base of her spine. He pulls her in tighter, and he smells like Christmas.

She sniffs pathetically into his shoulder.

And while he's not particularly warm—his jacket is cold from being snowed on all day—he hugs with his whole body. His chin brushes the top of her head and when he pulls away, even his eyes seem to be hugging her.

"I didn't pay," she stutters, hoping he doesn't notice the flood of heat she can feel on her cheeks.

"It's okay," he says, assessing her face. She thinks he's the type that sees right through the façade she puts up around her. "You looked like you needed it today."


	6. One Night Stand Request

When Annabeth opens her eyes, it isn't like in the movies. She knows exactly where she is.

The generic blue curtains, the empty fish tank, the pile of dirty laundry that was pushed off the bed last night—she gulps.

None of it is hers.

She's even more aware of the person in the bed next to her—or more accurately, the unclothed _male_ next to her. He's still asleep, back facing her, and all she can see is a mop of black hair and the rise and fall of his shoulders with each breath he takes.

(He has a nice back).

(He has a _really_ nice back).

She remembers how she was drawn to him at the bar the night before. It hadn't really started just last night though; she'd seem him around the office, smiled at him in the copy room, even asked him to borrow a Post-It note once when she was feeling particularly daring.

So when the office went out for a celebration after having made a successful deal—well, she'd been working hard on it and who could blame her for wanting to de-stress?

He'd bought her a drink and she surely wasn't going to say no… and one thing led to another and before she knew it she was in his car heading to his apartment.

She doesn't regret it—especially when she remembers how warm and gentle his lips were, how he told her about how beautiful she was and how he had been wanting this for a long time—

—no regrets. Just nervousness. One night stands are _not_ Annabeth's thing.

He rolls over in his sleep, causing him to throw his arm across her body. She gives a squeal of surprise and then he's awake, blinking sleep back from his eyes.

When they focus on her he jumps back.

"Oh _shit._"

_This_ is what Annabeth was dreading.

"Um, good morning," she says; it seems safe. She's on guard.

She even risks a smile.

He looks visibly relieved when she does. His shoulders relax and he shifts toward her, propping himself up on an elbow.

And then he returns the smile and Annabeth is once again reminded of why she was so attracted to him in the first place.

"Good morning. How did you sleep?"

She can feel herself blush a little.

"I slept well. You?"

"Never better."

The room is quiet for a moment, but it's not uncomfortable. It's easy, like she's waking up on any other morning.

He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand, and his face is bright pink when he begins to talk.

"So… um… like…"

"I wasn't drunk," Annabeth cuts him off.

"Me neither."

"Good." She takes a deep breath.

"Good." He takes one too.

"I never do this, though," he adds, looking down at his hands resting on the bed sheets like he can read the solution off the backs of them. His voice is thick with guilt. "I usually get to know the person first, like, know them _well_."

For a second she's not sure what to say.

But then she thinks of how much she doesn't regret—no _enjoyed_ last night. She thinks maybe it's time to take risks.

"There's no reason that we can't do this whole getting-to-know-each-other thing backwards," she says.

She's shocked when he presses his lips, slowly, to her temple.

"I'm Percy," he mumbles against her skin.

"Annabeth."

"If you could have one thing right now, what would it be? Because I'm dying for coffee…"

She shifts a bit closer to him, clenching her eyes shut and enjoying these last few moments.

"I think coffee sounds _great_ right now."

* * *

"So remember that time you stole my Post-Its?"

"_Stole?_"

"You asked and then you took half the stack."

"But I _asked _you and you _said _it was fine."

"You asked me if you could have some. I didn't expect 'some' to be nearly my entire—"

"Shut up and drink your coffee."

* * *

Annabeth finds out she's pregnant quickly thereafter.

She takes a sick day, half because she's pretty sure he'll see right through any sort of wall she puts up, half because she's crying too hard to even get dressed.

It's not like she never wanted kids. It's just that she doesn't want a kid—isn't ready—right now.

Annabeth has a job she loves. She works twelve-hour days, and it's not something she's willing to give up just yet.

Plus, she's used to routine and insurance. And it's not like Percy doesn't have the potential to become a constant in her life, it's just that he's not right _now_.

She's not sure she even loves him—how can she know? They've only just met. She's definitely not sure he's _the one_, and Annabeth panics because if she's having a child she wants to know she has a secure life with someone she can trust.

This isn't how it's supposed to happen, that Annabeth knows for sure. She's supposed to be married, madly in love, and after travelling the world _then_ she'll settle down for some kids.

_Everything_ is wrong here.

She tells him a week later, anyway.

He takes it as she expects— he drops his coffee when she first says it, looks at her stomach like he's expecting to already see it swollen, then asks how she's doing. He swears up and down that he'll be there for her, do anything for her and the baby.

She believes him. Maybe because she has no other choice.

But throughout the pregnancy he keeps his word. And more. He chases her nerves away with kisses against her neck, assures her that it'll be okay with loving words that are so genuine that she feels she knows him—in full honesty.

It feels sort of like love to her.

* * *

When she looks back on it years later (after she's married and most definitely in love), she figures that doing it all backwards worked out pretty well for her and Percy in the end.


	7. Coffee Shop Request

Percy doesn't like mornings much. After all, mornings mean waking up early and going to school. School means being yelled at by Mrs. White, his kindergarten teacher, because he can't learn the alphabet as quickly as his classmates.

One day, he tried telling her that it's because the letters jump around when he looks at them, but that explanation didn't help him much.

Percy _really_ doesn't like his teacher. She's strict—that's the word his mom uses.

But the thing about mornings that makes them okay (and just _okay_, not great) is that his mom doesn't have time to make them breakfast because she usually sleeps through her alarm. After feeding Percy suspiciously undercooked bacon a few times, she announced that it would be a lot quicker if they just stopped somewhere to pick up food on the way to school.

So they created a sort of tradition:

Wake up. Get dressed. Don't forget to brush your teeth. Go out for breakfast at the café down the street.

The thing about the café that makes it _cool_ (that's Percy's new favorite word, since all of his friends say it) is that he has made friends with the cashier, Tim. Once in a while, Tim gives Percy a blue lollipop for snack time—since blue is his favorite color—and as a result Percy refuses to brush his hair in the morning because he wants it to look like Tim's.

Percy also starts to recognize other people who go to the café every morning. For instance, there's the lady with the fur coat who always sits in the corner table with a cup of coffee and a lot of whipped cream, and the old guy with a missing tooth who always smells like fish.

And _sometimes_, there's this girl. Percy suspects that they're the same age—he might have even seen her in school. She always wears a blue backpack that Percy is particularly jealous of, and she has the strangest eyes he's ever seen. They're gray.

One time, he almost asked her about them, but he was too shy and her glare was too scary.

Over the years, Percy learns when to expect her in the café.

At precisely 7:30am on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays she's dragged in, holding hands with an official-looking lady in a business suit who also has curly blonde hair. The lady is always yelling into her Bluetooth, and her daughter always has a similar intimidating expression.

But Percy can get Gray Eyes to laugh, sometimes. Every morning he orders the same thing: a blueberry bagel with cream cheese (hey—it's blue!) and a bottle of orange juice. On the rare occasions that the little girl is behind them in line when Percy tells his order to Tim, she smiles.

Percy doesn't quite understand why.

But what he does understand is that he likes it when she does.

* * *

**FIFTEEN YEARS LATER**

He visits again when he's back from college for the summer, partly out of habit, partly out of nostalgia.

The appearance is basically the same—peeling white paint, round wooden tables, a long coffee bar to place your order at the back of the room.

It also has the same coffee-and-whipped-cream smell that makes Percy reminisce about his childhood a little.

A part of him expects to see the same people: fur lady, fish man, and Tim with the wild, un-brushed hair and a couple of spare candies behind the counter. He walks up to the bar, deciding it would be a crime if he didn't place his usual order, for old time's sake.

"Can I help you?"

He pulls out his wallet.

"A blueberry bagel with cream cheese, not toasted, and an orange juice. Please." He says it in the same way he did when he was little, with the please at the end and everything.

He thinks his mom would be proud.

"Oh my god. It's _you_."

He looks up, and the cashier is glaring at him. Definitely not the same friendly customer service as when Tim was here.

"Um, excuse me?" he replies, taking a step back because he's seriously worried she's going to slap him with the expression she has on her face.

"You're blueberry bagel boy." She crosses her arms over her chest, shifts her weight to one foot, and the corner of her mouth twitches.

All that registers in Percy's mind in the next few moments is that the cashier is pretty—like _seriously _pretty—and that somehow he offended her with his order.

"Is that a problem? Do you not serve them anymore?"

"Oh no, we do. It's just the most disgusting order I've ever heard."

He's not sure how to react, so Percy feigns hurt, pressing his hands over his chest.

"Ouch. I'm officially offended."

This time, the corner of her mouth pulls up into a real smile.

And then he recognizes her. She's the little girl with the cool blue backpack. She's the girl who Percy debated talking to each morning, until she stopped showing up at the café once they started high school. She's the girl he tried to make laugh every time she was behind him in line.

And now they're actually _talking _and he made her smile, just like he did when they were younger.

"Oh my god. It's _you_."

She's smiling full on, now, and Percy remembers why he tried so hard to make her laugh those many years ago.

Her smile is radiant.

"Your order has grossed me out for years," she informs him.

"What's wrong with a bagel with cream cheese and orange juice?"

She makes a face.

"It's a _blueberry _bagel though. I don't know… the idea is weird."

He glances at her nametag, trying to make his interest unobvious. _Annabeth_. It's unexpected; when he was younger he had convinced himself it was Julie, maybe because that's the name of the girl on Nickelodeon that he had a crush on. Maybe.

But Annabeth works. It's pretty and a bit offbeat, just like her. Mostly, Percy is glad to finally be able to put a name to her face. He thinks it's about time.

"When does your shift end?" he asks. She looks surprised, and Percy wonders briefly if he's being a bit too forward but—hey, they've technically known each other for years. Sort of.

"In five minutes, actually."

Her expression is almost amused.

"Great. Double my order. We'll see what you think once you've tried it for yourself."

* * *

(It turns out she hates it, but by the end of her break she doesn't hate _him_, so Percy thinks it's a step in the right direction).


	8. Support Group Request

After Tartarus, they cling to each other more than ever.

It's easy for people to see—in the way they shift their bodies in synch, the way they scan a room until they're sure the other person is nearby, the way they hook their arms around each other and pull tight, like simply holding hands isn't enough.

Annabeth notices that when they're not holding hands, Percy stuffs his into his hoodie pockets. She knows that they're clenched into fists under the fabric.

Percy notices that Annabeth doesn't like to be out at night because she doesn't like to see the stars. They remind her of things—not that she's necessarily trying to forget those things.

But it's too painful, at least right now.

So they resolve to talking to each other at night to chase the darkness away. And the thing is, they figured they knew each other after years of quests, after saving the world multiple times. But each night they uncover new things, peel back the layers of each other bit by bit, as they learn to cope with the world they thought they understood.

They call it their support group, jokingly, because they know that the only way to get the support they need is with each other. No one else understands how they feel, how they sometimes wake up in the middle of the night wondering if what they're seeing is real or if it's an illusion and they're still in Tartarus.

No one understands how they crave each other's touch but also fear it, like if they use kisses to soothe trembling hands and short breaths then their relationship will be consumed by physical needs and nothing more.

So they talk.

Percy learns that Annabeth talks more in the mornings, like the words come easier with the start of a fresh day.

Annabeth learns that Percy smiles with everything—his mouth, his eyes, his entire body.

Slowly, day after day, it becomes more real.

They're alive.

They see morning every day.

And on the days that feel darker, they have each other to bring the light back.


	9. Roommates Request

"You have _got_ to be kidding me."

Percy pauses in the doorway, and Annabeth honestly debates slamming it in his face. Or pushing him down the twelve flights of stairs.

And she'd gladly admit that an oh-so-small part of her hoped he'd get trapped in the elevator for a few decades on his way up to the apartment— at least until his hair grew out of that annoying cut with the annoying part that sticks up in the back.

Earlier that day, she had decided she was going to accept Percy Jackson for the horrible slob of a roommate he was. She didn't get mad when he left the toothpaste cap off after brushing his teeth or when he drank directly out of the milk carton.

She _even_ didn't raise her voice when he tracked mud into the house after going for his morning jog (possibly because he didn't have a shirt on, and she thought less interaction with him would reduce her chances of seeing that cocky smirk of his).

(Only because _he_ thinks he's so attractive).

But now he _dares_ walk into her apartment wearing his Converse all floppy like that with his stupid plaid shirt, pushed up to his elbows and unbuttoned in the front and somehow it all just seems so _criminal_ to Annabeth that she can't take her eyes off him because of how horrible he looks.

He freezes in his tracks, one hand holding a sandwich up to his mouth.

Annabeth can feel the hate seething out of her— in her glare, her arms crossed over her chest, her jaw clenched painfully tight.

He lowers his hand and closes the door gently, almost _too_ gently. It annoys Annabeth even more that he's trying to be sensitive to her anger.

"Um. What?"

She points a finger at him accusingly and he backs up against the wall. Good. He's scared of her.

"You, _Percy Jackson_, are the most insufferable roommate this world has ever seen. You're a danger to my health. You're a fire hazard. You are soon going to regret setting foot into this apartment, let me tell you."

His eyes widen comically, and Annabeth would laugh if she wasn't trying so hard to scare him into leaving.

After all, she was in _way_ over her head. She had only agreed to this in the first place because Thalia, her best friend, had _begged_ Annabeth to allow her 'charming' younger cousin to stay in her spare room for a week, while he looked for an apartment to buy.

Charming?

The closest thing Percy Jackson comes to charming is the Lucky Charms cereal he eats for breakfast each morning.

"What did I do now?" he asks, his eyebrows raised innocently, and Annabeth is astonished that he has the gall to pretend he doesn't know how goddam annoying he's is.

"_Everything_," she states, because there's nothing she likes about him, or his smile—just looking at it makes her stomach flutter with anger.

"Everything," he repeats, looking much less scared and a lot more amused. "Interesting. How can I not do 'everything' in a way that will make you happy?"

"You can't." Her voice is dry, humorless.

"That's too bad, isn't it?"

"Tragic."

"Devastating."

Annabeth is shocked he even knows what that word means, let alone can use it in a conversation.

"I've changed my mind. There is something you can do," Annabeth amends, narrowing her eyes in the most menacing way she can muster. "Move out."

The expression Percy gives her is so luminous that she feels the corner of her own mouth twitching up in amusement. Or exasperation. And then she swears under her breath because his happiness is nearly contagious, and that makes her even angrier.

"I am."

The words are quiet, but they rattle around in the empty air; that response is so unexpected that Annabeth is left speechless for a moment.

"Okay."

He shuffles over to their sofa—_her_ sofa—and sits down so that his back is turned to her. She can hear the smile in his voice when he talks, though.

"Don't be too upset, Annabeth. I think we'll still be seeing each other around."

She rolls her eyes. Clearly, she wasn't blatant enough in her hatred for him. She's never met someone so obtuse, she swears.

"What makes you think I'll agree to see you 'around'?"

He turns his head so that he's facing her, and his smile is so wide that Annabeth debates knocking it off his face.

"Oh," he states simply, with the same conversational tone he'd use to tell her the weather. But Annabeth has also picked up on his dry sense of humor over the past few days and can hear the underlying bite to his words. "I forgot to tell you that I bought the apartment just down the hall."


	10. Tourist and Knowledgeable Local Request

When the guy pulls up to Annabeth on a Segway, she knows she's in for an interesting day.

"Um, excuse me?" he asks, almost tentatively.

Annabeth looks up from her phone and keeps walking, hoping to give off the _I'm-busy-and-you're-bothering-me_ look.

"Yes?" He keeps pace with her on the Segway, and Annabeth nearly laughs because he's got a helmet on his head, elbow pads, and kneepads.

She's pretty sure the fastest those things can go is like, 5 miles per hour. In fact, she bets she can walk faster than him and she's got high heels on.

He gives her a bashful smile and risks taking a hand off the handlebars to pull a map out of his back pocket, which causes the Segway to swerve dangerously towards Annabeth. She jumps out of the way because no matter how slowly those things go, she'd rather not be crushed by one of them. They look heavy—and she's almost positive that the number of Segway-related deaths is staggering.

Not the ideal way to go down, if she's going to go.

"Oh _shit_. Sorry."

She rolls her eyes. What a klutz.

"No damage done."

Annabeth picks up her pace, hoping to deter her follower. It doesn't work.

She glances over and nearly jumps when she sees he's riding along next to her, smiling at her. It's borderline creepy, and she's thankful when she arrives at the restaurant for her lunch break a few moments later.

She stops on the corner of the street.

The man putters to a halt next to Annabeth, tipping back on his heels and jumping off the Segway. It's almost comical.

"Um, do you need directions or something?"

He grins at her.

"Is it _that_ obvious that I'm a tourist?"

Annabeth snorts. He practically has tourist written on his forehead.

"The Segway sort of gave it away. And the map."

"Dammit. Too bad I left my binoculars at the hotel."

She risks a smile, even though she's running late and at this point she'll hardly have time to eat. His eyes light up when he sees her expression.

"If you're a tourist at _least_ have an accent. It was a let down when I heard you talk, to be honest."

He pulls his helmet off his head, and Annabeth nearly teases him about his helmet-hair, but her voice gets caught in her throat. He's attractive. Seriously attractive—with his ruffled hair and his shirt pushed up to his elbows.

She glances down at her feet, suddenly self-conscious and not understanding at all why.

"I can have one if you want. _Cheerio_," he says in quite possibly the _worst _British accent Annabeth has ever heard.

And then there's heat on her cheeks so she cringes and shakes her head, hoping that hides her expression. He laughs loudly and runs a hand through his hair and it seems almost…flirty?

Annabeth doesn't do flirty. Especially not with obnoxious tourists on Segways.

"Never do that again, and I _might_ just give you directions. I'm surprised I'm even talking to someone who—" she gestures toward his vehicle "—rides one of those."

Maybe, she reconsiders when he smiles at her again, flirty is okay. Sometimes.

(There must be some sort of exception with attractive male tourists).

"Oh, right," he says, smoothing out the map. "I was wondering if you know where this restaurant is. I've heard it's the best in San Francisco."

He points to a location on the paper and Annabeth nearly bursts out laughing. It's the restaurant she goes to every day for lunch—the restaurant they're standing outside of right now.

"I've been there," she says instead. "Great choice."

He beams at her.

"Uh, so you're going to turn left here. And then it's another three lefts."

"So, four lefts," he affirms. "That should be easy enough to remember. Thanks… uh—"

"Annabeth."

"Annabeth. I'm Percy."

He offers his hand and she takes it.

Percy turns his back to her, puts his helmet back on, and mounts his Segway as gracefully as humanely possible.

It's almost endearing, Annabeth thinks.

She watches him ride off on his Segway and wonders how long it'll take him to realize that four lefts will bring him right back to her.


	11. Sitting on the Same Bench Request

The last thing Annabeth expects coming home from work is seeing Percy Jackson sitting on the bench outside of her apartment building.

It's almost dusk—the sunlight spills over the tops of the skyscrapers—and perhaps Annabeth is being a bit dramatic, but it fills the space between them with a sort of golden light. Maybe it's just an illusion, but the distance between them seems more profound then ever.

She hasn't seen him in years.

Her chest starts to ache, partially from the cold air she's breathing in, and partially because actually seeing him in the flesh reopens some sort of pain she's been ignoring for a long time, now.

She clears her throat, hoping that the words will for once form a tangible, real sentence instead of getting tangled. They do, somehow, and it's almost like magic.

"Hi Percy, how are you?"

Annabeth closes the distance between them and he slides over on the bench wordlessly. It's cold and their breath comes in puffs. Inviting him inside would be the polite thing to do, but she's not sure she wants him in her new apartment yet. It's the one place she doesn't have memories of him.

He doesn't look at her; instead, he stares down at his hands, clad in leather gloves. And maybe she hasn't seen him in a while, but she can tell from the set of his shoulders and his crumpled posture that something is wrong.

She knocks her knee against his, hoping for a casual gesture. Like they can put this great abyss of unspoken things and lost time aside for the time being. However, she can't escape the dread that something is wrong—_really _wrong. Wrong enough for Percy to travel across the country to find her after claiming that he never wanted to see her again. Wrong enough that after three years and nine months of radio silence he shows up on her doorstep. But who's counting?

"Percy?"

The bench is small, especially because of Percy's wide frame. Annabeth is acutely aware of every place their bodies touch.

"Sally died."

It takes a moment for those two words to register in her head. Together. Next to each other. She never thought they would have to.

Percy covers his eyes with his fists and she knows he's crying. He's shaking all over; she feels like she should be as well.

"She missed you, a lot," he says through the tears and his sobbing hurts almost as much as the news does.

Annabeth swipes at her nose, supposing condolences won't fix this.

"I missed her too."

"No—but Annabeth—" he looks at her for the first time with red-rimmed eyes and pale cheeks. He looks sick, almost. "She _loved_ you. Like family."

Annabeth wants to say the same, because it's true. She does love Sally. When she loved Percy, Sally was practically her mother. But how can she say the same thing back when she was the one who left? She abandoned them.

Maybe Percy broke off the relationship first, but Annabeth was far from blameless. It takes two to break things as strong as they had.

So instead of repeating the words, she hugs him and invites him inside. And although her first memories of Percy in her new apartment are heartbreakingly sad—the gravity of the situation nothing short of crushing— there's a small part of her that hopes that her memories with him have just a _chance_ of improving from here.

* * *

They do.


	12. And Then There Was Us

**BLOOD OF OLYMPUS SPOILERS. DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN'T FINISHED THE BOOK.**

"Anyone can slay a dragon ...but try waking up every morning and loving the world all over again. That's what takes a real hero."

* * *

As Percy slays the last dragon, the sky lights up in a burst of gold.

He can feel the heat on his skin, and the power from the blast makes him stumble a few feet backwards. The Earth makes a feeble attempt to grasp him again, and for an awful moment Percy feels his boots sticking to the mud in the ground. But by the time he can register what's actually going on, the Earth has settled and he blinks back the bright light that sears his vision to see the carnage around him.

It's quiet.

Weapons litter the battlefield and when his vision finally settles he can make out a smoking wreck in the distance where the source of the explosion came from. He imagines that it looked a lot like what Gods look like in their true form—powerful and so divine that mortals disintegrate in their presence.

The next thing he notices is someone touching his shoulder, and he knows it's her without having to look.

She's covered in dirt and has a slice that peeks out from under her collar and reaches about halfway up her neck. Her Camp Half-Blood shirt is ripped on one of the sides and has some sort of blood stain—he hopes it's hers.

When she looks at him, it's significant, he can tell. She doesn't fill the silence with words immediately; instead, she lets the quiet speak volumes itself. And moments later, when she does finally talk, he can tell that she had been thinking hard about what she wanted to say.

"You know, back under the Parthenon, when we were talking about our families?" She gives him a sideways look and he decides to focus his gaze on the cut on her neck because he's not sure he'll be able to look at her straight without bursting into tears over the fact that he's okay and she's okay and somehow, against all odds, they survived again.

"Uh. Yeah. I know I was being dumb. I have lots of people that care about me." He thinks he knows where this is going, but he's not entirely sure. He smiles tentatively, urging her to keep talking.

The corner of her mouth pulls up and when she reaches out to bump his shoulder with hers, it takes all his willpower to resist pulling her in for a kiss. It's moments like this when he's sure he's in love with her—casual touches that Percy can tell are just for him. It took him a long time to realize that underneath the toughness and layers of dirt that streak her face, there's a lot of tenderness there.

"I don't want this to sound cheesy. But I was going to tell you that you also have me. I think saving the world a few times makes us family, or at least, as close as we're going to get."

Percy swallows, because as much as he wants to say the same thing back a million times over, he _definitely_ can't pull off the deep-and-meaningful-conversations without seeming overly cheesy or stupid. So instead, he smiles at her, wondering if maybe it'll be one millionth as bright as the explosion that just split the sky in two. And sure, he should probably be worried about the destruction around him—and he is—but in this moment he wants this time to be theirs.

"I know."

She reaches her hand out and Percy leans toward her touch. He blinks back surprise when he feels her fingers brushing along his nose. Nice but… unexpected?

"Um Percy, I hate to ruin the moment but—" she rolls her eyes at him "—your nose is bleeding. Wouldn't want you to almost destroy the planet a second time with a bloody nose."

Her mouth is twisted in a smirk and it's so endearing to see her smiling, without having to worry. And hey, maybe it's at his expense—but he'll take it any day.

"I'd just like you to note that my blood is holy enough to wake up an immortal goddess and almost cause mass destruction."

She raises her eyebrows and Percy can see the challenging expression on her face.

"I'll have you know my blood is as _equally_ holy as yours is. And I managed to wake up Gaea while battling a giant—at least I made it look good."

Instead of following that up with '_You make everything look good'_, which was honestly threatening to work it's way out of Percy's mouth and thoroughly embarrass him for the rest of eternity, he pulls her in for a kiss that makes his heart flood with warmth.

When he pulls away, her cheeks are flushed and he's certain his look the same.

"It's sort of funny," she begins, "that it all started here, at Camp Half-Blood. And this is where it's all ending, too. It's kind of fitting."

Percy thinks about the kid he was a few years ago when he first arrived—he thought his mother had just died, he was scared, wimpy, and could barely hold a sword straight. He drooled in his sleep and _okay, _maybe he still does that, but he feels like a different person, now. He's has saved the world twice, protected his friends, and even helped set things straight with the Gods. He doesn't think it's all over, though, this sort of lifestyle doesn't just end.

He bumps her shoulder back, and it's casual and affectionate and playful and everything that he and Annabeth never had time for before the war.

"It's not an ending," Percy says as the last bits of smoke clear in the distance and the sunlight glints off of the weapons strewn across the grounds of a place that has truly been his home. "Just a different kind of beginning."


	13. Jealous Percabeth Request

**A/N: Written for the request: Can you please do jealous Percabeth? Preferably, jealous Annabeth. **

**Just a reminder to follow me on Tumblr, my URL is tai-chi-leigh. I post lots of stuff on there and it's awesome... :) Also, ****for other people who have sent me requests: I see them all and I'm working on a bunch of them. Don't worry, I haven't forgotten!**

******Enjoy!**

Annabeth isn't jealous. She swears.

She tosses the rest of her sandwich into the garbage and sits back down at her table, pushing the book she's reading in between her line of vision so that she can't watch _that_—whatever it is.

When Annabeth glances up about a minute later (to check the clock), she swears that the girl has somehow moved closer to him. Annabeth crinkles her nose and pushes up her glasses, settling once again on her English book. She doesn't care about Percy Jackson, anyway.

When Leo calls for Annabeth's attention to ask her a physics question, she can't _help_ but look over that way—she has to look at Leo to answer his question and it just-so-happens that a certain boy is sitting at the table directly behind him. And somehow that girl is even closer: the distance between her and Percy Jackson is so small that Annabeth doesn't think she could measure the space with a ruler and a magnifying glass.

The heat is flushing to her cheeks now; her palms start to sweat furiously. There's a part of her that wants to walk up to the girl and push her off his lap.

And then there's the reasonable part of Annabeth that tries to console her. This part that argues that Percy Jackson is not hers and has never been hers and— by the looks of it—never will be hers.

(Not that she wants that, anyway).

They're not dating. They're not even friends. She doesn't even _like_ him like that, she swears.

It's just that she sees more to him than typical a high school athlete. Yeah, he's the best swimmer in the school and he has washboard abs and black surfer hair that's a bit lighter on the edges and he chews on the end of his pencil when he's nervous.

But that's exactly the part of him that everyone else sees. And sure, Annabeth sees those things too.

Those things are superficial, though. Over the past few months she's been tutoring him after school and maybe she's a tiny bit caught up in his charm, but she'd also like to think that she's gotten to know him beyond just his swimming records.

Annabeth likes the way Percy Jackson's eyelashes kiss his cheekbones each time he blinks. She likes the way that he covers his heart with his right hand when he's answering a question she asks—she doesn't think he realizes that he does it; it's sort of a subconscious thing. She likes the way that, when he's talking to her or she's talking to him, he looks _directly_ at her like she's the only thing he can see for those few seconds.

So when Annabeth reaches into her lunchbox to take out her apple and she just _happens_ to see Percy Jackson again out of the corner of her eye, it makes her feel a little better that he's leaning away from that girl the tiniest bit. It's not enough to be rude and it's not enough for anyone who doesn't know him well to pick up. But hey—Annabeth is perceptive. She can tell these things.

And then all of a sudden he looks up and catches her eyes and Annabeth has half a mind to use her book to cover her face. And she's definitely imagining the corner of his mouth pulling up into a smile.

The girl vies for his attention again, pulling on his sweater sleeve in the most overly flirtatious way Annabeth could imagine. He turns back toward her and Annabeth feels anger spark through her body so sharply it feels like she was electrocuted.

She opens her book once again, not failing to notice the way Percy and that girl are laughing now and suddenly Annabeth has the urge to punch something.

Hasn't been the first time she's felt that way around Percy Jackson. He has a tendency to tick her off—sometimes she thinks he does it intentionally, like how he always insists chlorine's atomic number is 18 no matter how many times she tells him it's not.

Annabeth turns her whole body in the other direction—she can't see him if she looks at the clock and she can't see him if she looks at her lunchbox, so she doesn't have to _accidentally _look at his stupid smiling face for the rest of the lunch period, which is dragging on particularly slowly in her opinion. She even puts on her earplugs and turns the music up uncharacteristically loud so that the droning chatter of the cafeteria fades into nothingness.

It's working well for her until she feels a tap on her shoulder.

She turns around and it's him and he's alone and—okay, his cheeks are slightly flushed from laughing or the cold temperature of the cafeteria or something, but he's _right there_.

"Um, hi. I didn't know you were in this lunch wave," Annabeth lies.

"You didn't?" Percy presses his hand against his chest looking confused, and Annabeth internally knocks herself on the head because it was very obvious that she was just looking at him a few minutes ago.

"Nope."

"Um, okay. Well I was wondering if you could tutor me after school today?" He's looking at her earnestly and a little bit shyly, like he's expecting her to flat-out refuse. But how can she when he's looking at her like that?

"We usually don't meet on Thursdays," she points out.

"Yeah, but I have a test tomorrow in chemistry and I could use the help. But I totally get it if you can't do it today. It's fine."

And now Annabeth is confused.

"You don't have a chemistry test tomorrow. Piper is in your class and she would have bothered me about borrowing my graphing calculator…" she trails off, readjusting her glasses and pulling her hands into fists inside her sweater sleeves.

"Erm, you're right. I actually need English help."

She narrows her eyes. "English? I never tutor you in English. I'm dyslexic too, remember?"

He pushes his sweater sleeves up to his elbows and backs up a step or two, and Annabeth has the sudden urge to yank on his sweater like the girl did before. Which is ridiculous. She doesn't flirt. Especially not with Percy Jackson.

"Oh yeah, you're right. Never mind."

He turns to go back to his table and that girl is just sitting there expectantly and it's official. Annabeth just can't allow it to happen.

"Um, Percy?"

He whirls around, his neck is visibly flushed now and Annabeth almost smiles at that.

"I was actually wondering if you could help me out? The kid I'm babysitting is starting swimming lessons today and I know you work at the Fitness Center in the evenings. I'm supposed to drive him to his class and I have the schedule on my phone, but I'm not sure if he's Dolphin Level or Barracuda Level so can you take a look at this?" Annabeth holds up her phone.

He smiles at her now, fully, and sits down next to her on the lunch bench. When she passes her phone to him, his knuckles bump hers briefly—okay, maybe she leans toward him a tiny bit more than she would if she was talking to a real friend.

Maybe he does the same to her.

Annabeth glances up at the table where Percy came from to see a pair of eyes watching her. And she isn't great at reading other people's emotions but—is that jealousy reflecting in the girl's face? Two can play at this game.

Annabeth shifts closer to Percy to point out something on the swim schedule and her knee knocks against his. He knocks hers back, playfully, timidly, and it almost makes her chest ache. Almost.

"Yeah, so he's a Dolphin Level, which is actually the class I teach." He gives her a sideways glance and rubs at his chest with his arm. "I have a track record of no kids drowning when I'm teaching so he's in safe hands."

She rolls her eyes at him. "That's comforting."

The lunch bell rings, and everyone around them stands up. Percy does too, and he offers her his right hand.

She takes it, every nerve tingling, and he helps her up. It's a completely normal gesture—something that she wouldn't hesitate doing to Leo or Piper or Jason. So she's definitely imagining it when he gives her hand a slight squeeze before letting go.

"So I guess I'll see you tonight, then?"

"I guess you will."

"Great."

It's hard to hear him over the clatter of everyone filing out of the cafeteria, but he's looking at her in that certain way and—yeah—so maybe she was a little jealous before.


End file.
